


To All The Demons Under My Bed

by LWTIS



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Craig cannot be bothered to deal with the paranormal activities, Haunted Houses, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 16:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWTIS/pseuds/LWTIS
Summary: A demon stands at the foot of his bed - a winged monstrosity straight out of a horror story.Craig blinks slowly. Takes it in.“The Netflix password is redracer4ever.” he rasps out after a moment’s pause, words a little slurred with sleep. “All lowercase, with the number four.”And he promptly falls back asleep.-Craig's new home comes with a rather annoyed, anxious demon. He takes the whole thing a little too well.





	To All The Demons Under My Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panaceaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panaceaa/gifts).



“...sir...before you sign these documents, I am legally obligated to tell you that there’s been a...uh...history of paranormal activity at this property.”

Pen poised just above the contract, Craig slowly turns his head, eyes clearly wishing for death. It’s distressingly unclear whether it’s for his own, or for the agent’s.  

“...it’s haunted.”

The negotiator squirms under his gaze, clearly uncomfortable. “...some previous tenants claimed to have seen a demon. It’s...it’s the reason why they were so eager to move out as quickly as they did. But I can assure you, we have taken every sort of precaution to - ”

“Were their pets harmed?”

“...Pardon?”

“Were any animals harmed by this demon?”

The agent blinks, quickly ruffling through her notes before shaking her head. “...not to my knowledge…there hasn’t been any serious injuries or deaths in this property, only - ”

There’s a quick scrape of pen-on-paper, followed by a neat stack dropping straight into her hands.   

“Cool. I can pick the keys up Monday, right?”

\---

He’s really not surprised, in all honesty. With the house recently renovated and conveniently far away from the local murder alleys and string of sleazy pubs, it has to be either haunted or built on an ancient burial ground to justify the amazing rent.

“I guess if it’s between a former crime scene or shitty neighbours, a demon isn’t the worst choice there is.” he muses aloud, carefully setting his guinea pig down in his cage. Stripe’s nose twitches in acknowledgement before he’s distracted by the snacks in the far corner. Craig watches him a moment longer, fond smile twisting into annoyance as he turns around to acknowledge their surroundings.    
The small room is a mess of boxes and bags, a shoddy execution of an idea for an office space. The rest of the house is in a similar state of disarray - save for the mattress on the bedroom floor and a glass in the kitchen, nothing has been unpacked yet. (Stripe’s cage is an exception because he is a _great_ owner, and his priorities are fantastic.)

Somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, a box shakes. The silverware inside rattles with appropriate indignation.  
With a shrug, Craig rolls his sleeves up and cranks the volume on his phone to the max.

-

The rubber soles of his shoes squeak on the bathroom tiles as he unpacks his toiletries. He’s so lost in his euphoria at not having to share a shower with anyone else anymore that he misses the first flickers of the lightbulb above him.  
Without warning, the shower curtain billows out with a sudden gust of cold air, bringing the stench of sulphur with it. Craig pauses, wrinkling his nose.  
“Huh.” he says.

Thankfully, he had shoved Tricia’s leaving present near the top of his backpack - easily accessible. In a matter of minutes, there are candles lined up on the side of the bathtub, casting a gentle glow and the sweet scent of sandalwood over the room. On his way out, he switches off the flickering light before unscrewing the faulty bulb for good measure.     
Done.

\---

It’s sporadic at first.  
Clatters. Rattling. Faint scratching noises on the other side of closed doors. Furious mutterings from corners of the room, in the moments he lingers on the precipice of sleep.  
They’re easy enough to ignore. He spends most of his time at home with headphones snug over his ears, and after a long shift, he can sleep through a tornado. A few falling boxes or creaky chairs don’t even rouse him from slumber.

But then their supernatural roommate just has to take it one step too far.

He’s snapped awake one night by loud, repeating bangs, accompanied by a cold gust of wind. In-between each crash, a muffled, angry hiss seeps through the walls, twisting at the shadows in an agitated dance. Blinking blearily, he glances at his phone. 3 am.  
He’s just about to roll onto his side, pillow tugged halfway over his face, when he hears the high-pitched squeals.

Craig is on his feet in seconds, practically sprinting into the other room. As predicted, the window is wide open, the unnatural wind slamming the wooden panels open and shut. And shaking in the corner of his cage, voice distressed and insistent, is his very frightened guinea pig.  
Fucking piece of shit _asshole.  
_

“Cut it out, you fucking prick!” Craig barks. Stomping across the room, he grabs onto the shutters, forcing them into place with a grunt. Once the lock is securely in place, he quickly scoops his pet up and cradles him close to his chest, murmuring a string of reassurances. It takes a while to calm Stripe down, the guinea pig only placated after an emergency snack of baby carrots and many, many tummy rubs.  
Craig lingers by the cage long after Stripe has burrowed himself into his little haystack. Once reassured, he turns his attention to the now inconspicuously silent window.

“Listen, asswipe.” he spits. “If you’re really desperate to rattle some fucking furniture, do it in my room. The bathroom, kitchen, whatever. But don’t - _don’t fucking upset Stripe._ ” He thrusts an angry finger in the direction of the cage. “Demon, ghost, Mothman - I don’t care what you are. You pull that shit again, and I’m going to make your existence really fucking unpleasant.”

Silence is the only response he gets.  
But it’s silence that stretches through the night, uninterrupted.  

-

When he’s rudely roused from sleep by the violent rattling of his bedroom wardrobe a few days later, he supposes he has no right to complain.  
(He does so anyways.)

\---

There's a book balanced on top of his shampoo.

Mouth still full of toothpaste, he reaches for it, frowning at the nonsensical title. Latin, most likely, gilded letters on the spine shining in obnoxious old copperplate. A quick flick-through reveals dozens of illustrations, each more gruesome than the last. They all depict demons - rituals to summon demons, interpretations of demons throughout the ages, the unfortunate fates of those who were led astray by demons.  
Craig closes the book. Sets it down on the floor. Leans over the sink to spit the toothpaste out. His fingers, blindly searching for the bottle of mouthwash, close around something much too round and much too cold.  
A quick glance reveals it to be a...jar. Tall and copper-capped, it looks like something out of a crazy scientist’s lair from the last century. Alarmingly, it’s filled to the brim with bright crimson liquid, and houses a small, shrivelled...thing floating in the middle of it.  
Craig closes his eyes. Bites back a sigh. Sets it down on the floor besides the book.

“That better not be a fucking animal fetus.”

-

It takes surprisingly long to gather up all the vials and books from the different rooms of the house. They’re scattered all over the place - a blue jar hidden amongst his spices, a worn notebook tucked under his video games. There’s even a tiny scroll squished besides Stripe’s bowl, containing a dozen lines of obnoxious Latin script.  
With a thoughtful hum, he switches two books around before taking a step back. The upper shelf of his cabinet now resembles a witch’s pantry, with its spellbooks and questionable potions in neat rows. The Red Racer themed coasters under the jars ruin the mysterious effect somewhat.     
Craig clears his throat, hands on hips as he glances towards the corner. “There. You’ve got your own shelf now.” he says. “Do me a favour and stop leaving your shit everywhere. It’s a dickish habit.”  

\---

A crash from the living room cuts through his concentration. Without glancing up from his screen, Craig grabs his slippers and chucks it in the direction of the noise.

“If you keep breaking my shit, I’m gonna expect a fucking contribution to the rent!”

\---

It’s 7 am and there is blood _everywhere_.

Feet rooted to the ground, Craig can only stare at the scene before him, fingers gripping his mug for dear life.

“What the _fuck._ ”

The mint green tiles are smeared dark red, as if someone had swung a violently bleeding body around the room. The floor is a mess of crimson puddles, the chairs upturned. Violent onomatopoeias are scrawled across the walls, mixed in with threats - _Get Out, Begone, Leave.  
_

Craig closes his eyes. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Takes a deep breath.  
Alright.  
So it was going to be that kind of day.  
Okay.

Sidestepping a puddle, he checks the kettle for any damage before switching it on. Then he crouches down to retrieve the paper towels from the cupboard.  
On his fucking day off too.

-

Several hours, many bottles of bleach and countless trips to the store later, Craig shoulders the front door open.

“Oi, dickhead. I’m home.” he calls out, grunting with effort as he sets the plastic bags down onto the now-clean table. His muscles protest with every movement, and he is fairly certain he’s lost his sense of smell forever. “So, first of all - if all that blood was human, I hope you made it count. That better had come from a politician, or my sister’s creepy ex boyfriend. Second of all - I got you this.”

With as much flourish as he can muster with his dead arms, he drops a large plastic container full of magnetic plastic letters onto the counter.  

“There’s three sets in here. I got an extra pack of vowels too. I’ll even unscrew the lid for you, so you don’t have to throw it against the wall or coat it in blood.”

Predictably, the bastard doesn’t even have the decency to make a chair creak in response. With a roll of his eyes, he unscrews the lid before grabbing the bag full of takeout.

“If you have something to say, the fridge is there. You make a mess like this again, you're cleaning it up.”

\---

The first messages are jumbled protests, words that vaguely resemble insults. If he hadn’t been trained so well by years of exposure to Clyde’s texts, Craig wouldn’t have understood any of it.

“Real mature, asshole.” he mutters. After a moment’s contemplation, he grabs a few extra letters from the jar, spelling his own response underneath the demon’s message.

_FUCK U_

-

Unbidden, his thoughts drift back to the exchange throughout his shift. For some inexplicable reason, it makes him smile each time.

\---

Monday morning creeps up on him with unfair inevitability, leaving him sleepy and harried. Struggling with uncooperative limbs and the tiny evil buttons of his shirt, he almost misses the message on the fridge.

_You are out of coffee_

Craig frowns.  
He doesn't drink coffee. The only semblance of coffee he has in the house is the small pack that came in Token's housewarming gift.  
One that, on inspection, is completely empty.  
Huh.

Almost as if in a daze, he takes a picture of the message before heading out the door, remembering to take his keys at the last moment.    
He doesn’t drink coffee.  
But when he’s perusing the aisles of the supermarket in the evening, a container makes its way into his cart regardless.

-

The response the following morning is swift and to the point.

_That shit is not coffee_

Followed by as many exclamation points as the demon could find in the container.

Craig stares at the fridge in disbelief, an ugly snort slipping free. “Oh now you're a snob too?” he sneers. “I don’t see you contributing to any fancy hipster brew. Drink your hot bean juice.”

He thinks he can hear the pantry cupboard rattling indignantly as he turns the key in the lock, and he has to tug at his scarf to hide a grin.     
Regardless, his feet carry him into the nearest Starbucks on the way home.

-

The next morning, the contents of his pantry has mysteriously shifted into alphabetical order. Somehow, all his socks found their way into the laundry basket.  
In the middle of the fridge is a single word.

_Thanks_

\---

It becomes a habit. Craig leaves a message before going to bed - and every morning, he receives a reply. Sometimes it’s a request. Mostly it’s a statement, ranging wildly in topic and emotion day-to-day. Sometimes it’s a reminder.

\---

_You promised your mom youd call_

“Oh, _fuck.”_

\---

_I dun mind the coffee but if u drink my orange juice again im setting fire to the house_

_FIRE HAZARDS ARE NOT FUNNY CRAIG_

\---

_U know my name_

_Your sister shouts it a lot on the phone_

_\---_

_Whats ur name_

_\---_

_Tweek_

\---

“Are your neighbours drilling at this time of the night, Craig?”

The aforementioned glances up from the TV screen at Token’s inquiry with a frown. “What?”

“I’ve been hearing this...rattling noise for like the past hour.” his friend explains, setting a bowl of popcorn on the table. “It’s...coming from the walls? Is this a weird thing your neighbours like to do on the weekends?”

“Oh. That. Nah, it’s just the house demon.”

He turns his attention back on the game set-up. When he lowers his controller, Craig finds three pairs of eyes staring at him in unified bafflement.

“...the what now?”

“House demon. Don’t mind him. I think he gets agitated with crowds.”

Token does not seem assured by the sentiment in the slightest. Jimmy tilts his head, unsure if Craig is taking the piss or not.  
Clyde, on the other hand, looks ecstatic.

“Dude,  _seriously?_ An actual honest-to-God demon?” he says, eyes sparkling. “Okay, let me go quickly grab my Ouija board from the trunk, and then we can try it out! I have so many questions!”

“Your _what?”_  Token asks, voice sharp.  

On cue, the rattling picks up in intensity. The bookshelf to their left creaks, as if in distress, the light above them flickering. Clyde’s eyes widen further.  

“Holy shit, that’s amazing.”

With a scowl, Craig’s foot smacks against his friend’s ankle in warning. “Oi, cut that out. He’s not a performing monkey. Don’t pressure him.”

“But - “

“No.”

With a pout and a sigh that would break weaker hearts, Clyde raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry. No need to freak out! Board stays where it is.”

Slowly, cautiously, the rattlings ease off. Craig sneaks a glance towards the corner of the room before picking up the controller again, meticulously ignoring Token’s searching glance. On his left, Jimmy reaches over to pat Clyde’s back consolingly.

“C-cheer up. We live in C-colorado, there’s demons practically everywhere. And b-b-besides, isn’t a O...oujia b-board for ghosts?”

“I can’t believe you own one either way, Clyde.” Token mutters, tone icy. He snatches the second controller up. “We are going to have a _very long talk_ when we get home.”

\---

He snaps awake in the middle of the night when he feels someone’s stare burning through him.

Hazy eyes flicker to the corners before finding focus on the figure standing at the end of the bed. Its face practically melts into the shadows, save for the outline of a pointed horn and the sharp glow of a yellow eye. Curved behind his body, leathery and dragon-like, is a pair of wings.  
A winged, horned demon, straight out of a horror story.  
Craig blinks slowly. Takes it in.

“The Netflix password is redracer4ever.” he rasps out after a moment’s pause, words a little slurred with sleep. “All lowercase, with the number four.”

And he promptly falls back asleep.

-

There’s no message on the fridge the next morning. Just a long string of question marks. Idly, Craig wonders why the manufacturer felt the need to include four question marks with each set as he composes his own message.  

_Ur wings r cool_

\---

Although he shouldn’t be, he’s still surprised when Netflix starts recommending him conspiracy theory documentaries. A quick click on his history reveals half a dozen films he definitely doesn’t remember watching. When he lifts his laptop, he can make out the faint scratches on the keys - as if a cat tried typing with its clawed little paws.     
They’re odd choices. The classic questioning of whether the moon landing was faked, a discussion about whether the government is hiding the existence of aliens. A documentary about the American Health system. And then, seven episodes of Blue Planet, followed by a baking show.

Honestly, Craig doesn’t get the whole fascination with the moon landing. No, that’s a lie - a good few years of his childhood were spent obsessed with the whole story. The space race, the concept, the _possibilities_. It was all downhill from there - a glorious cascade into nights curled around telescopes, into dozen notebooks filled with perfectly mundane observations and wild theories of the unknown.    
It’s an incredible story, a fantastic historical landmark. It’s proof of human ingenuity, of its potential.  
So he really doesn’t understand why so many people are hell-bent on proving it didn’t happen at all.   

He says so, on the fridge. The response he receives covers the whole upper section, Tweek having spelt out his thoughts until he ran out of magnets.  
It’s...very passionate. If not just a little...deluded? Paranoid?  
Still, it’s enough to prompt him to click on the documentary one evening, interest piqued. Forty-four minutes later, he has no idea how to feel.  

“What the fuck.” he declares to the empty room, eyebrows threatening to crawl off his forehead entirely. “What the _absolute fuck._ ”

He clicks the next one.

-

The soft click of his bedroom door rouses him awake.  
He’s lying in his bed, blankets tucked snugly around his form. When he moves his head, he can see his laptop has been moved back to his desk, his phone plugged to charge.  

\---

Monday creeps up with frustrating inevitability, and leaves him with iron limbs and a complete lack of will to live. He doesn’t bother with dinner, making a beeline for his bed right after feeding Stripe.    
Slowly, he tugs his phone out. Stares at the list of his top contacts - Mom, Dad, Tricia, Clyde, Token, Jimmy - before his grip slackens, screen dimming as he presses his face into the pillow. His thoughts chase each other in frustratingly familiar circles, always arriving to the same bleak conclusion - like many a depressed ouroboros.  
He is contemplating whether or not he can manage crawling into the shower when he hears his laptop switch on. By the time he sits up, a very familiar show is already playing on the screen.

Craig lets out an ugly snort, hand moving to rub at his eye. “I don’t think a very sweet makeover show with people being nice to each other will fix this, Tweek.”

The volume just increases in response. Involuntarily, his lips twitch into a smile.

“...you’re absolutely right. Queer Eye fixes everything.”

\---

He wakes up to a soft whisper of his name, and a barely-there touch to his ankle.

Craig’s eyes snap straight to the foot of his bed, pulse spiking at the sight of the familiar inhumane outline. There’s a cough before he steps out of the shadows, wings twitching as their eyes meet.  
His horns are bright red and curved, poking through a mess of blonde curls. The teeth worrying his lower lip are long and pointed, with impish little canines. His fingers, tipped in claws, are fiddling with the frayed sleeves of his green shirt, buttons mismatched. A soft, consistent swishing noise is the warning he gets before he spots the end of a tail, flickering in and out of view.    
Craig blinks slowly. Drinks him in. Licks his lips.  

“Y’know, it’s a lot warmer under the covers if you wanna come cuddle.”

Bright yellow eyes widen, a dark flush flooding Tweek’s face right before he curls into himself and vanishes in a puff of smoke.

 _Fuck.  
_ Cursing under his breath, Craig flops back against the mattress gracelessly. Swallowing his disappointment, he closes his eyes and tries to fall back asleep, the lingering smell of sulphur making the dull ache in his chest all the worse.

-

It’s around 3 am again when his covers are pulled back, letting the cold air crawl against his skin uninvited. Before he can make any noise of discontent, the mattress dips, and a warm, oddly bulky body slides into bed beside him.  
From this close, Craig can make out the tiny scar above Tweek’s eyebrow. See the twitch of his eyelids, the bob of his throat with each hasty swallow. His fingers are brushing against the blonde’s cheek before he could even think to stop himself.  

“Hi, Tweek.” he murmurs.

The demon opposite him lets out a soft huff of amusement. There’s a little rasp to the sweet high pitch of his voice, and it feels like a punch straight to Craig’s lungs.

“Hi, Craig.”

-

The mechanics of cuddling someone with wings are a little complicated. Especially when they happen to be nervous, excited and prone to fidgeting with their _claws_. Eventually, Craig grabs onto the smaller male, unceremoniously tugging him against his chest.

“You can be the big spoon next time if you settle down.” he mumbles against his hair, the exhaustion creeping up on him. Carefully avoiding the horns, he moves to press a kiss to the top of his head.   

After a long beat, he feels Tweek relax, slowly moving to snuggle into his chest. The covers shift as his tail wriggles under the blankets, idly wrapping itself around Craig’s ankle.

-

Waking up with a demon in your bed is a lot different than Craig would have previously imagined. Accidental scratches along his arms and faint bruises left by the pointy ends of horns certainly didn’t feature in any stray daydreams he might have had.    
It’s...sweeter. Quieter. A little more awkward than one would hope.  
But Tweek’s eyes are even prettier in the sunlight, hazy with sleep and framed by an impressive bedhead. His tail is still curled tight around Craig’s ankle, and he just wants to keep this boy forever.  

“So…” he begins, resisting the urge to squirm. Tweek’s eyes snap onto him, making his job even harder. “What...do you eat?”

“The souls of the innocent.” comes the immediate, brusque reply. Then a thoughtful pause. “And bagels. Sometimes.”

_Figures._

“Well, I was gonna make pancakes.” Craig says a little awkwardly. Suppressing a cringe, he pushes on. “I like them with cinnamon. But. If you want, we can smear some of that goo you left lying around the kitchen last week on yours. And then we can...watch that episode about alien contact? The Australian one?”

Tweek’s fingers twitch, claws clicking together with the movement. Slowly, his lips curl into a shy smile that leaves Craig breathless.  

“That sounds nice.”

\---

Tweek pushes him against the fridge a week later, lips scalding against his own. With the magnetic letters digging into his back, there’s only one thought flashing through Craig’s mind before he melts into the kiss.  
_Finally._   

\---

Two weeks later, Craig sends Clyde a photo.  
It's a candid shot in his room, of Tweek kneeling on his bed. Clad in a worn NASA hoodie much too big on his skinny frame, his attention is focused solely on the guinea pig cradled between his hands. The tender smile on the demon’s face is still infectious, even after having admired the picture at least a hundred times already.

“Craig, hurry up!” Tweek calls from the living room, voice impatient. “It's about to start!”

With immeasurable satisfaction, he puts his phone on silent.

“Coming, honey.”

\---

  
  
 

AN:

EDIT: The wonderful [ichika27](https://ichika27.tumblr.com/) / [sanashi27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanashi27/pseuds/sanashi27) drew these wonderful boys for me and it's the sweetest thing!! [PLEASE CHECK OUT THIS WONDERFULNESS](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/post/181027093850/to-all-the-demons-under-my-bed-lwtis-south), I love it so much <3

It's almost Sunday here so - happy birthday, panaceaa! You are one of the sweetest writers I've had the pleasure of meeting in this fandom, and I only wish you the very best! <3 The idea came from [this post](https://panacea-for-all-evil.tumblr.com/post/177198115269/kopso-am-i-funny-yet) I saw on your blog a little while back. You asked for an AU - I hope you like it!

And the rest of you absolutely need to check out [this lovely lady and her lovely works](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panaceaa). Trust me. Treat yourselves :D


End file.
